


The Scar

by orangepeachmango



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A little bit of plot, Hate Sex, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 11:07:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangepeachmango/pseuds/orangepeachmango
Summary: The time is nigh for Melkor to finally be released from the halls of Mandos to Tulkas' house to pay repentance. Blood runs hot between the rivals.





	The Scar

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys i noticed that the LOTR tag has um absolutely 0 melkor/tulkas fics and thats fucking WRONG   
> i had to read the chaining of melko (lost tales) for my LOTR class, and boy, oh boy, lots of um, Tension, in that one. 
> 
> anyway im gay and i tried to stay mostly on-book but like, also i cant remember every possible thing so, stick with me if i bent it a little. 
> 
> this is just a one-day fic, i only spent a few hours on it. but i think it came out alright : )   
> kudos/comments are always loved and appreciated. Thanks lovelies! 
> 
> (i know you're still waiting for the next chapter of 5:15. I'm working on it.)

Melkor stared into the unending blackness of his cell, Angaino heavy on his wrist, as it had been for hundreds of years. He could barely move as it was, and it seemed to him, recently, that the stationary position was starting to wane on his constitution. His wrists and ankles did not ache as much as simply feel tired. He was tired of sitting in this damned cell, he was tired of waiting endlessly for his next round of punishments to begin. Makar had even stopped his periodic visits, which didn’t bother him all that much. Makar was a little bitch. He did not even possess enough loyalty to either side to damn or redeem him, only offering a weaselish opinion on the matter. Melkor made a mental note in the neverending pile to give him a firm buffet on the face for his lack of loyalty. He rubbed his long tongue over the etched outline of the scar on his lip where Tulkas had smacked him. It hadn’t gone away, in all this time. They had not even offered him a washing before chaining him up, and he still had caked thousand-year-old blood on his forehead from Manwë’s blow. He gave a heavy sigh, as he did most days, and hung his head uselessly. All through the day and night, that was all he did. Sit on the floor and hang his head. He felt shame for the way he acted at Utumno, for falling so easily into their trap. He was too damn prideful. He bit the edge of his lip in distaste, feeling the scar again. The Valar would not catch him so easily next time. How dare they curse his works! When he too was put on Arda in Illuvitar’s image, and had many deeds prescribed to him by the will of Eru. His song was that of fire, and mountains, and of glaciers and ice. He was put here to build the earth, in that way he saw fit. How dare they devalue his works, when that of Aulë is of mountains and caves, and the very earth itself. Aulë simply moves the rocks around, but he, Melkor, made the very ground in an instant. The lava from his mountains is what creates new earth, that which Aulë tinkers with. He grunted aloud under his breath as the taste of his own blood filled his mouth, where a new cut had been chewed through his lip. He savored the iron flavor, the only variance in his daily life, the occasional taste of himself. Sweet and sharp, metallic and strong. He would be less resentful to be in this damn cave if they only let him have use of his hands. Not that he had any planned usage for them, but only so that he could do anything other than sit in the dark and stare at the ground. Mandos had either never heard his screams, or chose only to ignore them, as Makar was the only face he ever saw. He did not know how many of the days he had slept, if even at all. He could no longer remember what he had done mere minutes ago, much less hours or days or weeks ago. It seemed never ending, he had no clue how long he had possibly been in this position. It had to be long. It had to be nearly over, he kept telling himself. There was no glimpse of light from anywhere in his hovel, which is as he likes it usually, but now there was no way to tell the passage of time. No flittage between Telpirion and Laruelin’s light, nothing that gave away anything. Not even sounds reached him, or smells, or anything reliant on his senses. Just rock, and the bonds at his feet. 

At some point he must have drifted into a slumber, for he was awoken to the sound of metal and rocks shifting just behind him, a sign that the doors of his cell were being opened. His heart thumped wildly all at once, which shocked him and gave him a shameful pit in his stomach. For all he knew, it was Manwë, come finally to finish the job. He was feeling anxious, not for fear of death, but for the opportunity to see another’s face for the first time in what felt like eternity. The surge of emotion sickened him. He kept his head down, his long thick braids covering most of his face. From the ground he saw large blackened feet, with claws at the end of the toes. He knew the sight instantly, and the sudden smell and sound of him almost made him wretch. It was Tulkas, there standing before him. Melkor held his tongue, and merely braced himself for a killing blow. It did not come, and Tulkas merely grabbed him by the chin and lifted his head, giving him a sour and disdainful glare. Melkor met his gaze, not daring to speak out. Tulkas tilted Melkor’s head to the left and right, getting a look at him from all angles. 

“You look like shit,” Tulkas commented dryly. Melkor kept silent, barely even moving to blink. Tulkas clicked his tongue and dropped his face from his hand, almost stopping when Melkor breathed out a whimper, but deciding he didn’t care enough. Tulkas looked to the door with a low gaze, and a few of the servants of Mandos came in haste, pulling up Angaino from the ground. It took many of them to carry the load, and neither Ainur offered any help. Melkor could hardly believe he’d lived to see the day, when he was finally let from the pits and brought back up the Valinor. Tulkas was silent the entire walk, hardly ever glancing back to make sure Melkor was still in tow. Melkor gazed at his figure as they walked, his legs now more than aching, almost resisting movement after such a long period of stasis. He watched the way Tulkas held his head high, and narrowly glared at everything he passed, clearly displeased with being tasked to come retrieve his new prisoner. He was broad in shoulder, and had a cleanly trimmed but wild mane down the back of his neck and upper shoulders. The strong horns at the top of his head were white, and his skin a pale grey-blue, a stark difference to the thick dark atosphere of Mandos’ halls. The only light along the walk was the subtle blue flicker of the fire between Tulkas’ horns, tiny but luminous. He wore white draped cloth about his hips, and a single drape across his shoulders. Melkor was, by constrast, in the rags he had been dragged here in, and his rich smoky skin was losing its saturation, starting to look pallid and sickly. When they reached the top of the long winding stairs, Mandos stood in his grand hall, staring down at the pitiful mess before him. He was several heads taller than both Tulkas and Melkor, in his long yellow robes he looked to be one shape, instead of a clothed person. The light of the hall blinded Melkor, as he had not seen light in many years, and his eyes had grown so acustomed to the lack of it. He tried to behave himself, but couldnt help from a gasp in pain and struggling to hide his face against his shoulder, as he could not reach with the shackles on his wrists. Tulkas sneered and gave him a rough kick at the shin, which nearly sent him tumbling over. He steadied himself as quickly as he could, still blinded by the bright presence of light. Mandos and Tulkas exhanged a quick word, and the three of them set off to Valinor. Vairë insisted she would not walk along the same road as Melkor, and did not care to see his return. It was not long before they arrived at Tanequetil, and the sight was truly to behold. There, just at the top of the hill, was suddenly a whole city, filled with smallish people. Melkor scrambled to try and understand what he was seeing, as it dawned on him that these must be the Children. He hadn’t seen them since his chaining, only heard from his spies at the very last moment that they may have been seen. There were thousands of them, everywhere, and they were all so practically perfect looking. It made his blood boil the way they walked, the way they carried themselves, as if they were equals to the mighty Valar. They stared at him, gawked at the unknown horror being paraded through the streets. He felt like meat on display, for their vieweing pleasure. He could do nothing about it, but he knew it was clear to Tulkas how shameful the act was, and he could practically feel the waves of sensible satisfaction coming from him. After their saunt through town, they came to the circle of doom, where Manwë sat on his throne, and the Valar around him, looked down and judged what they saw before them, for a second time. There was little to be debated, as it was merely a formailty. To reinforce Melkor’s sentence, to remind him of what he must do for the next four ages of time. And if he’s good, Eru willing, he will recieve the chance of a seat among them. Melkor was loathe to hear every word of it, they had all gotten so soft, sitting atop their marble thrones, staring down at him like they were better. In the end he swallowed his pride when it was his turn to speak, bowing to the ring before him as best he could, still burdened by his chains. He put on as fair of a face as he could, and he begged for mercy. The words like fire on his lips as he spoke them, but he kept his cool and begged on his knees, admitting his repentance, promising to serve in Illuvitar’s name, for the good of Arda. He could see at the edge of his vision, the startled and sickened face of Tulkas, who looked as though he was about to throttle him. He closed his eyes and kept his head down, feigning obediance. Manwë asked a few questions, about whether he was truly sorry, and what were his intentions in how he was going to help the children. He promised only that he wished to know the children, as he hadn’t had the chance until now. He wished to learn from them, and to serve them as he was best able. And of course, to serve Tulkas, his new lord. That earned a displeased click of the tongue from Tulkas, who stalked away from the ring in fury. Manwë was silent for a long time, deliberating on the decisions before him. The Valar moved in and out of the circle, going about their day as they all waited for his ruling. Manwë stood finally, nearly time for Telpirion to light, and bent to remove the shackles from Melkor’s hands and wrists. He welcomed his brother home, and expressed his pleasure in Melkor’s repentance. He played nice and thanked Manwë for his mercy, and did not argue when the rest of the court insisted on an armored guard to take him to Tulkas’ house. Manwë truly believed he had given up his ways, and he was right where Melkor needed him. 

Tulkas was not pleased to have Melkor in his home, servant or not. He stared at him with pure disdain everytime they crossed paths, despite the house being huge and the halls vast and long. Melkor was given his own room, though plain, it was better than a circle of rock in a bottomless pit. He could finally bathe and clean himself, and for the first time in a long time, he saw himself in a silvered mirror. His hair had grown longer, and more ragged, and the braids were barely together anymore. He gave another heavy sigh and started un-twisting them, one by one. They were thick and large, and each had a large portion of hair in each braid. Un-braided, it was wild and mane-like. He didn’t like the disheveled appearence it gave off, like he didn’t care what he looked like. He did care. He perferred to look cclean and proper, as others tended to take him more seriously when he wasn’t feral on all fours with unbrushed hair. He was sill bare from his bath, and he stood infront of the mirror idly while he untwined all his hair and brushed it smooth. The bath room was large and mosiaced, with depictions of his very capture lining the walls. It wasn’t that easy for them, he thought to himself. It wasn’t as heroic and grand as the tiny chips of glass reflected. It was messy, and it was quick, and it was disasterous. He tore the world apart beneath their feet as they came running at him, and all was not so perfectly geometric. He tore his gaze from the taunting pictures as he heard the wooden door to the bath hall open, and Tulkas stood in the doorway. He made a disgusted sound as he saw Melkor using the mirror, sneering loudly. Melkor tensed his jaw but simply turned his head away and kept re-braiding his hair, not paying him any mind. Tulkas growled in his chest and closed the gap between them, his hands balled into fists, in a stocky stance, ready to fight. 

“I know you, Melko. I know you spin lies at Manwë’s very feet, you truly have no honor.” he spat, clenching his fist in Melkor’s face. He simply blinked lazily and shook his head, still twisting the thick strands of hair hanging off the left side of his face. 

“I have no thought of which you speak, Tulkas. I spent a lot of time thinking in that hole.” he said placidly. Tulkas snarled and grabbed his wrist, stopping his hair-mending.   
“You know exactly of which I Speak,” he growled lowly. His voice was barely above a whisper, did he fear Manwë was watching them quarrel? Melkor stared coldly at him but didn’t pull away. They were both silent for a while, before Melkor felt the grip on his wrist relax just a bit, and gently pulled it away, resuming his braiding. Tulkas let his hands drop to his sides and bore daggers with his eyes, giving him a glancing once-over.   
“Put some damn clothes on, Melkor. Have some respect. We are not heathens.” He said coolly and he straightened himself. Melkor glanced at him, regarding his simple draped outfit.   
“I have none.” was all he said. Tulkas rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, leaving the room in a huff. Melkor returned his gaze to the mirror, putting his hands down now that he had finished with his hair. It felt incredible to be clean again, with his hair freshly brushed. He tried to still his heart, which was thumping wildly from the proximity to Tulkas. He narrowed his eyes, staring loathfully at himself. He was acting like a child, getting worked up over such basic contact. He had barely touched him, but the feeling sent electricity through his skin, it almost burned, yet it felt so good. He cursed himself for being so weak. In Utumno he had as much  _ contact _ with whomever he pleased, even Makar submitted himself to Melkor’s desire. But now he was starved, desperate for anything, a look, a touch, even pain, nearly anything to remind himself he was still alive. He nearly panicked at the sound of the door swinging open again, glancing over his shoulder at Tulkas, who had returned with folded white clothes. He gingerly held one out to Melkor, who took it just as gingerly in return. White, how absolutely boring, he thought to himself. He turned his head to the side to let his hair fall out of the way, and wrapped it around himself, first his hips then his chest. He could have sworn he caught Tulkas’ eye as he dressed, but he was wont not to dwell on it. Tulkas took a step forward as Melkor finished, narrowing his eyes to slits and growling in his chest. 

“If you so much as  _ look _ at one of the children wrong, you will be getting much more than a smack on the face, do you understand me? I won’t let you ruin literally everything we have built here. Letting you out was a mistake.” He snapped. Melkor nodded cooly and gave a half-bow of his head. 

“I am only here to serve,” He said plainly. Tulkas clicked his tongue.  
“Don’t patronize me. Get out of my sight.” He growled. Melkor nodded and gathered himself, heading out of the baths, and back towards his new cell. 

Work in Tulkas’ house was not without labor, he was vindictive and gave Melkor the worst jobs available. He was mostly well-mannered about it, but Melkor couldnt help himself from the occasional eye-roll and frustrated growl. He had to keep reminding himself it was a long game he was playing, and he had to play his cards right in order to not be defeated. The most important card being the visage of repentace, and appearing as though he believed he deserved this treatment. Tulkas may have been enjoying the ordering around a little more than he should have. Manwë came to look upon him once, and scolded Tulkas for making him scrub the entire floor of the ballroom with just one brush and bucket. Tulkas rolled his eyes and had more servants come to help, but told them to be on their way once Manwë had left, and had Melkor re-do the entire floor the next day. Melkor had already hated Tulkas, but now his hatred had evolved, and he would be the first to suffer his wroth when he made his grand re-entrance. Tulkas had always insisted that he still did not trust him, and still that he hated him, but their interactions were less vicious as time went on, and he grew more lax with the work once he’d had his fun. He still deligated the hard and laborious jobs to him, but now it was more consistent and routine. Melkor was to fix the house if anything was falling apart, or to move and clean a storage room, or to wash all of the baths out. It became less about punishing him and more about just doing the work that needed to be done. Despite the work becoming regular, and Tulkas becoming less vicious, Melkor was still restless, he had work that needed to be done elsewhere, for other plans, and he was getting no where. He had reconnected with Makar, who had been quick to apologize for not standing up for him all those ages ago. Melkor was too tired to do anything about it, and so let him do as he pleased. He was of some help, he filled Melkor in on all the goings-on in Arda since his untimely departure, a feature that none of the other Valar were willing to give him. But he grew restless to do more. He wanted to meet the Elves, and to speak to them. The Noldor in particular piqued his interest, as he had heard a great deal of things about their many works. They would be worthy allies. He greaw restless to do more, and to meet more people, and to experience more. He was still raw and starved from his stint in the halls of Mandos, he required attention that he was too wary to ask of anybody. He could have demanded it of Makar, but he was slimy in personality, and he never much liked it with Makar anyway. He unfortunately did not know anybody, and all those who already knew him would not touch him, and those he did not know were too frightened. So he was stuck. He needed to get out and take advantage of this new group of people, but Tulkas would not allow him to leave the house unattended. So he did nothing. Which only fed his restlessness, and made him more resentful. 

He sat in his bedroom, staring out the window, just as Lorelin’s light was fading into Telpirion’s, debating what he should do about the fact. Leaving would only cause suspicion. Demanding it of Tulkas would surely have a negative effect, even though he did believe he deserved the right to leave the house as he pleased, since he was showing no signs of misbehavior. The only clear answer was grovelling, but he did not think he could even convince himself to do that again. At Manwë’s feet was one thing, but at Tulkas’? It was admitting defeat. He was so lost in thought about the topic that the loud banging at his wooden door startled him into yelping. He stared at the door and waited for something to happen, but there was only the awkward shifting of feet on the other side. He rolled his eyes and opened the door, startled again to see Tulkas there before him. He levelled his gaze and grit his teeth. 

“Does something need fixing?” he forced out. Tulkas straightened his posture and looked at him as blankly as he could. 

“No.” was all he said. Melkor glanced away for a moment, surprised he had said no. Staying silent for a moment, waiting for him to go on, but he didn’t. 

“Do you need something, then?” he asked, starting to get annoyed. Tulkas looked like he was about to go on and say something, but he bit back his tongue and remained stoic. Glancing behind Melkor at his room. 

“Makar has been visisting you a lot,” he started. Melkor narrowed his eyes and mentally dared Tulkas to finish that sentence. There was a bit of a pause and Tulkas nodded gesturally towards Melkor’s room. 

“I am to search your room in case he brought you anything.” Melkor furrowed his brow, and didn’t move out of his doorway. Why was he being so flighty? If he had wanted to search Melkor’s room, he need simply to arrive and do it, instead of knocking and asking permission to enter. He was the prisoner, not Tulkas.

“He hasn’t.” he said lowly. Tulkas narrowed his eyes back and put a strong hand on Melkor’s door, pushing it inwards.

“I don’t care if he has or hasn’t, I am to look regardless.” And with that, Tulkas entered his room. Melkor stood aside and let him snoop, though he was holding everything back to strangle him. Tulkas poked around a little, and looked, though there was not much to see, since Melkor hadn’t changed a thing about the appearence of the room since he had arrived. Makar had also not brought him anything, except news. Tulkas stopped after a few moments and stared over at him.

“If you’re hiding something, show it to me now.” he warned. Melkor rolled his eyes at this entirely unprecendented accusation. 

“I am not. Not only do I have nothing to hide, I would not have anywhere to hide it if I were so inclined.” he pointedly reminded him, gesturing to the tiny size of the room. Tulkas narrowed his eyes and huffed. 

“Fine.” was all he said. Melkor stared at him, his brow knit together.

“Fine.” he repeated back. The fire betwixt Tulkas’ horns crackled a little in the heavy silence between them. He stepped forward towards Melkor, getting a little closer than nessecary. 

“You and I were once close, Melko.” He said hushedly. Melkor was taken aback by his words, They were said so gently, and like he was telling a secret. Of course they were once close. He was once close with all of the Valar. He was just like all of them, and them he. He and Tulkas were once very close. They were of relative stature and strength, and they both loved to train, and fight for the sake of fighting. They were both wildly competitive, and had firey personalities. They were once close, it seemed like eons ago, that there they were, in the heavens, laid tangled together after pinning eachother down in a spar. 

“I’m aware. I was there.” Melkor growled. All this talk of their past lives was making him agitatied, starting to piss him off. Why was he here? What did he want? Tulkas looked away, off to the side, his cheeks clearly red with blush. 

“I thought you wanted to do good, Melko. I thought you went to the void to find something good. I thought you sang the loudest to make the music better, not to ruin it for everybody.” Melkor scrunched his nose in disgust at Tulkas’ words, and balled his fists, ready to strike. Tulkas reached to grab Melkor’s wrist, gripping it tightly, digging his sharp claw-nails into his skin.

“I was on your side when you came back from the void, Melko. I liked your music, but you have to work as a team with everybody else. It’s not all about you, it’s about the Children.” He went on, his own brow furrowing in furstration. Melkor backed up against the wall, trying to get out of his grip. Baring his teeth in anger.

“You don’t know  _ shit _ , Tulkas. You don’t know what I saw in that void. You don’t know the half of Illuvitar’s plans for this world, and for his precious children.” he spat, wrenching his wrist from Tulkas’ grasp. 

“I would if you’d tell me, Melk-” he growled, grabbing the both of his wrists instead. 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Melkor growled, leaning harder up against the wall and raising a clawed foot to scratch at Tulkas’ leg. Tulkas pressed harder aagainst him, tightening his grip on his wrists. They grappled for a moment, and scratching quickly turned to biting and biting quickly turned to moaning and grinding. Tulkas pressed firmly up against his body, holding Melkor’s wrists above his head, biting into his neck sharply. Melkor groaned and snarled, too desperate for the attention and too stunned by the electric feeling of his touch to shove him off. Rising his leg up against Tulkas, between his legs. Panting and lowering his head to bite back at his neck, but quickly thwarted by Tulkas’ firm grip on his wrists. Snarling louder and giving an extra hard rise of his leg against Tulkas’ crotch in punishment. Tulkas moaned and pressed their chests together, clawing at Melkor’s wrists.Tulkas nearly climbed him like he were a tree, hauling himself up and wrapping his legs around Melkor’s hips, dropping his hold on his wrists and grabbing at his horns, tightening his grip there instead. Melkor moaned and claws at Tulkas’ back, stepping away from the wall just a couple steps forward to his bed, throwing him harshly down onto the matress, onto his back. Getting quickly ontop of him, one hand firmly at Tulkas’ hip, digging bruises into it, and the other at one of his horns, yanking his head to the side to bare his neck. Biting down sharply into his skin, drawing blood into his mouth and licking at it, eliciting the most delicious moan from beneath him. Tulkas wrapped his legs tightly around Melkor’s hips and pulled him as close as possible, grinding their cocks together. Melkor groaned as he felt the grinding, moving the hand from Tulkas’ hip to rip off the thin white drapes they were both wearing, not giving a damn if anything tore. Taking a moment to glance at Tulkas’ figure, his waist dipping in at almost an unnatural angle, making his hips small and his shoulders very broad. His cock was darker blue than the rest of him, but not unimpressive in the least. Tulkas sneered as he watched Melkor gawking, rolling his hips up and giving a low growl, grinding the head of it up against Melkor’s thigh. He gazed down at Melkor’s own endowment, eagerly anticipaiting it. He was longer and thicker than Tulkas, and covered in all kinds of ridges and fleshy spikes. He growled again, a little louder, as Melkor was still staring and not much else. Melkor glanced back up at him, quickly trying to hide the blush on his face but to little avail. Grabbing him by the hip and shoving a clawed finger into his ass, glaring up at him with devilish malice. Tulkas moaned and spread his legs wider, reaching up to grab at Melkor’s horn again. Tugging it in a commanding way. Melkor kept going, spreading him open sufficiently enough, and creeping closer to his body. Squaring up against his hips and slowly shoving his dick into him, earning a hearty moan from Tulkas’ chest. The slow pace did not last long, and Melkor quickly picked up the pace and fucked him hard against the bed, growling in pleasure. The wooden bed creaking under their weight, and Melkor distantly hoped it wouldnt break under the conditions they were putting it through. It was his only bed, afterall. Tulkas let out a sharp keen as Melkor hit somewhere good, and he tried to fuck him there, loving the dishevelled noises of pleasure coming from him. Tulkas clawed at him and tugged harder on his horn, bringing him closer down. Melkor wrapped his arms around Tulkas’ midsection, laying his head against his chest and bucking as hard as he could into him, going deeper with every thrust. Tulkas clawed at Melkor’s back and moaned loudly, almost a yell. Calling out his name to the heavens, his whole body shuddering and arching against him as he went over the edge, streaking cum on Melkor’s belly. Melkor growled as he felt Tulkas’ body tighten around his dick, moaning and huffing as he fucked him through his orgasm, following not long after. Shoving as deep as he could before cumming, panting wildly as he finished inside him. Tulkas moaned weakly and panted with his tongue lolling, his useless arms running through Melkor’s hair. Melkor relaxed his weight, as he could no longer keep himself up. Burying his face against Tulkas’ chest in exhaustion, thuroughly satisfied. They laid there, intertwined like vines on Melkor’s bed for what seemed to Melkor like ages. Tulkas shifted after a while, pushing gently on Melkor’s shoulder. He got the hint and got up, pulling out of him and huffing. Clambering over Tulkas to lay down on the bed, Telpirion’s silver light filtering in through his window on Tulkas’ bare  chest. Melkor couldn’t help but gaze at the etherial way the light played with his skin color, forcing himself to look away, for fear of getting lost in it. Tulkas got up eventually and crawled over to lay next to him, curled up but not touching, facing Melkor’s back. Melkor’s head swam with thoughts as he tried to fight off sleep, confused about wether their fuck meant something more, and that he still hadn’t completely solved his problem. He still needed to get into Kôr to speak to the Elves, and the Noldor, and to fully devise his plan for absolute take over. But for now, he could do nothing. He was trapped by the post-sex fuzzyness in his brain, and the comforting sound of Tulkas’ breathing just beside him. 

He was awoken by the light of Laurelin and the feeling of fingertips at his back. He flung his head over his shoulder to see what was happening, and Tulkas gazed up at him with startled eyes. Pulling his hand away instinctively and glancing off to the side. Melkor groaned softly and laid back down, rubbing along the flat bridge of his nose. They were both quiet for a moment, before Tulkas spoke. 

“You have many scars on your back. More than I.” he said quietly. Melkor just grunted in response and curled a little tighter, suddenly self-concious about it. There was another moment of silence before he heard Tulkas sit up, into what he assumed was getting ready to leave. But he didn’t leave. He sat closer and gently gathered up Melkor’s hair in his hands and started pulling out the braids. Melkor was startled and frightened at his hair being grabbed, but slowly started to relax after it was just petting and re-braiding. Melkor curled his tail tightly at his feet, confused as to why they were sharing an intimate moment when they both despised eachother. But he did not put up a fight, and not entirely just because he had an image to protect. It was not undesireable, and if it made Tulkas trust him more, then it would be easier to worm his way in and get what he was really after. The braiding felt nice, he had only ever done it to himself. It felt relaxing to have someone else do it. He felt a little like a dog, being scratched behind the ears. It took a while for Tulkas to finish all the braids, as even though they were large, he still had lots of hair and many braids had to be made. When he had finished, they said nothing to eachother and Tulkas got up to leave. He did not bother to gather his ripped clothes, and just left the room. It wasn’t until later in the day when they saw eachother again, and Melkor felt a rise of awkwardness between them as they spotted one another. Tulkas still approached, and seemed to act like nothing had happened between them. Which was perfectly fine as far as Melkor was concerned. He was cleaning out old planter boxes, and Tulkas stopped to check his progress, as he often did when Melkor had a new and different task to do. After some very bland chatter about the planters, Melkor felt compelled to ask about his right to visit Kôr unaided. Tulkas stared a little surprised at him, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He stayed quiet for a moment and narrowed his eyes.

“I will let you go, but I won’t hesitate to kill you if I find out you’re doing something wrong. I am not Manwë.” he warned. Melkor nodded, knowing it was true. 

“And only after you’ve finished all your tasks for the day,” he added bitterly. Melkor nodded again, and Tulkas turned heel to leave. 

Upon gaining permission to leave the house, Melkor quickly hurried to finish his work in the garden, and told one of the other servants to send word to town to have Makar meet him at the end of the road towards the house. Makar came promptly, and they went into Kôr, and he met many Elves, who were frightened but curious to meet him. The Noldor, who he had been eager to meet anyway, recieved him warmly. They had a sort of master creator among them, Fëanor, who he did not get to meet until the light between the trees had almost completely switched. He was strong in face and stature, even for an Elf, which Melkor found to be so small and delicate. He had a handsome complexion, and a passionate personality, just the way Melkor liked. He found himself vaguely attracted to him, but he didn’t care enough to presue it. Fëanor seemed uninterested anyway. Their talk did not go unwell, and Melkor thought himself sucessful in his mission so far with the elves. The rest of the Noldor liked him well enough, and only time would lend itself to his friendship with Fëanor. They stayed together for nearly the whole length of Telpirion’s light, talking over smithworks and craft, and it was almost Laurelin’s turn once again when Melkor finally did leave for Tulkas’ home. When he arrived back into the main hall of the house, Tulkas was at the top of the stairs, watching him with stern eyes and a scowl. Melkor narrowed his gaze and said nothing, turning to return to his bed room. Tulkas did not give chase, and he was left alone for the night. 

Their sexual incounter was not an outlier, some nights Tulkas would enter Melkor’s bedroom deep into the light of Telpirion, or other times he would simply join Melkor in the baths and lead him up the stairs to his own bedroom, which was much more lavish. Melkor felt a little pity for Tulkas, who was clearly losing his sense of hatred and had gone soft for him, when he felt nothing at all for Tulkas. Their sex was enjoyable, and a reliable place to find relief, but Melkor still hated Tulkas with all his heart, for what he had done, and how he hadn’t stayed by him. He ran his tongue along the scar on his lip as he lay naked in Tulkas’ bed, staring at the ceiling, adorned with a map of the stars. Tulkas often felt over the scar himself, when they kissed. He thought back to his time in Mandos, when that small scar was the only thing keeping him present, the taste of blood, the memory of Tulkas’ rage. The thousands of stories his mind played out, about all the possible ways he was going to end it for Tulkas. He was still in the game, so he couldn’t kill Tulkas now, but there they were, in such a vulnerable position together, yet some kind of shaky trust had been formed. I wont kill you, as long as we just keep fucking. We don’t have to tell anybody, just keep it to ourselves. They were having secret trysts, but it wasn’t between starcrossed lovers, it was between two adversaries who hated eachother, who just fuck for the fuck of it. He oft laid in Tulkas’ bed and thought over his next moves, his next plans. Get Makar to do this, convince Fëanor to do that. Get more Noldor on his side. Find somebody to help him destroy those damn trees. The Noldor were inherently prideful, and spreading rumor and doubt amongst them was too easy. All the while, Tulkas slept peacefully beside the monster, assuming that all was now well. 


End file.
